Perfection
by Chi Sweet Tea
Summary: Perfect people don't exist. Neither do perfect families. The Dare family is definitely an not exception. So, why does her family strive so hard to seem perfect? A One-shot about the Dare family through Rachel's eyes, as she sorts out memories of her childhood inside the boundaries and standards of perfection.


Percy Jackson and the Olympians belongs to Rick Riordan. [Photo belongs to Domfree15 on Deviantart]

* * *

Rachel Elizabeth Dare didn't have a bad memory. She just didn't remember much of when she was a little girl. Just few scattered memories. Some she disliked more than others, very few she liked.

But Rachel did, in fact, have a favorite memory. It happened when she was very young, in the small and homey apartment they owned before her father became rich. She had no idea how she remembered it, but it was stuck to her brain like superglue on the shirt she ruined while sculpting the Eiffel tower.

The memory was short, and slightly blurry and without a single sound. Yet she cherished that memory and it was worth more than all the money her father ever had or would ever have.

She was five and it was the first day her father worked at Share Enterprise. Mr. Dare had an air of happiness, which was rare because the stork had just lost her little brother. The stork had made Mrs. Dare more heart broken and fragile than ever.

Rachel remembers peeking through a semi-closed kitchen door. The kitchen smelled like banana bread, recently made by her mother. Through the gap between the doors, she could see her parents were both in the room.

Soft light was shining through the kitchen window, directly in front of the sink. And her mother was washing the last dish. Mr. Dare kissed his wife softly on the cheek. He whispered something into her ear as she turned to face him. The clouds rolled away, revealing a striking sun whose rays shone through the window into the pained room. The light almost created silhouettes of Rachel's parents, staring at each other in front of the running water. It was inevitable to notice the single tear running down the woman's cheek, glittering in the sun, silent and strong trace as it rolled down her cheek. Slowly, Mr. Dare wrapped his arms around his wife. And rested his forehead against hers as they both closed their eyes. A sweet and simple smile spread on both of their faces.

No one moved.

The moment was perfect. Silent tears of a brave but hurt woman. The couple in a loving embrace. Smiles of hope and change emerging from loss after loss. The contrast of the backlight creating silhouettes. And the glittering tap water was still running.

Gods, it was her favorite memory.

* * *

The next memory Rachel Dare had was not as agreeable.

It was the day Mr. Dare became owner of the company.

His boss had died without an heir, so had given everything he had– including the company– to Rachel's father. Now, Rachel had a huge penthouse apartment that was twice- no, three times- the size of her old one.

She was six and eight months, way back when you needed to know exactly how many months it had been since your last birthday, and Rachel Elizabeth Dare was wearing the most uncomfortable dress known to mankind. It felt like it was made in ceramic, stiff, ugly, and black with olive green. It reminded her of a funeral dress. And effectively, it was the end of her life as a normal, middle class person.

Her mother was wearing a tight red dress, with her hair was pinned up, and forcing a smile through excellently done makeup. She had spent hours on the look. And to finish the time consuming look: Mrs. Dare wore beautiful earrings and necklace, shining with fake silver and fake pearls. Rachel's mother stood confidently, but her hands were clamped together and shaking slightly behind her back. Nothing like the newfound pressure of unexpected high class could make adults terrified.

Mr. Dare stood in a tuxedo. He hadn't spent all of his time on looks, but he had to change shirts twice before everyone arrived because the last shirt showed the amount of nervous sweat. Somehow he stood confidently on the stage facing the most important, and most skeptical, workers in the Enterprise. Rachel can't remember a single thing he said. She just remembers wishing that it were all a dream. But it wasn't.

After that day, Dare Enterprise began.

After that day, Mr. and Mrs. Dare were never the same.

Rachel hated that day. It marked the end to a loving family and normal life. Her family would cease to _be_ perfectly normal, and begin to _pretend_ they were perfect people.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare despised that memory.

* * *

This memory was of the death of her hamster.

Not much time had passed since Mr. Dare became owner of the Company, but to Rachel, it felt like it had been millennia. She was seven and seven months. But, suddenly, her family only cared about appearances. Rachel Elizabeth found herself dressed in fancy clothes and being taught how to act. She hated it. Her parents didn't go to any school reunions or played any games with her, and her mother no longer took care of her because they had an "au-pair". An Au-pair is basically a fancy way to say international-nanny-who-does-the-job-my-mom-is-supposed-to-do. Rachel appreciated Petra nonetheless. But, the truth was always there, haunting her everytime she looked at Petra. Rachel Dare didn't slowly lose her parents; it was immediate. It all happened right after her parents became owners Dare Enterprise.

During the past year Rachel had headaches, strange visions, and strange dreams. The headaches were sudden and lasted little time, but they were so strong, that Rachel nearly cried every time. And the visions were terrifyingly realistic. (Seriously, the dog was as big as a truck.) The dreams were blurry, short and random. They didn't usually make much sense, but she would occasionally see people or places. No one else saw the same things. Rachel Dare tried to keep these things to herself, she knew the Au-pair would tell her parents, and that was the last thing Rachel wanted.

Until one night, she dreamt her hamster would die and her secret exploded. The dream was nothing tragic or dramatic, but certainly heartbreaking for a little seven-year-old girl. Rachel woke up and started crying, which made the nanny wake up. When the nanny arrived the little frightened girl told the dream between sobs, forgetting to hide her weird affliction. The nanny checked downstairs and found the hamster in the exact way Rachel, three floors up and still in her bed, had described.

The next morning, the au-pair was replaced. But that was not the strangest thing; Rachel woke up to her father staring at her with the stern face. The same stern face that probably scared everyone in his office into turning the work on time, but the seven-year-old just stared at her father's face in confusion. What was _he_ doing in her room? Why wasn't he _working_?

"Get ready, we have to visit Dr. Arkwright." He said roughly.

Rachel stared at her father. "Who?"

"Dr. Arkwright. He will help you deal with the loss of you hamster." Mr. Dare said, in the same tone.

"Why? Does this have anything to do the dream I had last night?" Rachel replied bluntly, speaking rapid-fire.

"He will help you with your...dream." Mr. Dare said the word dream the same way he used the word 'imperfection', the word he used the way normal people use 'disease'.

Her blood boiled. "You're just afraid that people will know we're not perfect. It that the problem?" She watched him as she nearly yelled every word, terrified of the answer.

"We have to uphold the family reputation." He snapped. "Now, hurry up."

That was all her parents cared about. She had to be–no, her reputation– had to be perfect.

The memory still stung.

* * *

Thankfully, not all memories that came back to her were sad or painful. In fact, some were inspiring.

This was the day Rachel Elizabeth Dare discovered her love for art.

Rachel was nine, finally having gotten over the month-counting phase, and was once again a new student. She had had another fight with her parents because, according to Rachel, there was no need for _another_ private school and no one knew of "the problem" (as Mr. Dare had named it) in the old school. But, the redhead lost the argument and once again, Rachel found herself a new student in another private school where she really didn't feel like making more friends that she would eventually lose.

It was a Monday on the second week of fourth grade and after a long first week as Monroe School's 'new girl', the buzz had finally settled and teachers started to teach instead of trying to introduce themselves to everyone. Rachel sighed to herself as she got ready for Art class. She didn't want to take art, but her school required it. The mandatory elective class was taught by an overly caffeinated and perky woman, Mrs. Collins. The teacher with short and brown hair, her emerald eyes were always excited, and she was very skinny.

Mrs. Collins started the class with a simple drawing assignment. She pulled out a basket with folded papers and pulled out one little folded paper. Whatever the paper said was what they would draw. The extremely perky voice read some dreaded words out loud.

"Draw your family".

Rachel nearly groaned out loud, but she just needed to get this out of the way. Without even thinking, she immediately sketched what came to mind. First, the Dare girl drew two smiling parents looking to the left, a little redhead standing to their right and a little baby with wings beside her. The girl stared at the drawing. That was a surprisingly accurate portryal of her family.

"Ok, nice warm up! Now, you guys are free to draw whatever you want. Your pet, your feelings, your best friend, your house...anything at all!"

All students immediately started talking excitedly about their next drawing. But Rachel didn't really know anyone, so she just took her pencil and a blank sheet of paper, expecting some sort of muse to tell her what to draw.

No muse,–not that they existed anyways– helped her get inspired. Nothing came to her. On the other hand, _someone_ came to her. Rachel looked up to fing that sitting directly in front of her, was her giddy teacher.

"Are you stuck?" She chimed.

Rachel nodded. Glaring daggers at the blank paper.

"Have you tried drawing one of your dreams? That's always a quick solution."

Mr. and Mrs. Dare would not want anyone to know her child was strange. "I don't remember any of them." Rachel lied through her teeth, thinking of her parent's need for a flawless reputation.

"What about a favorite animal?"

"A horse?" Rachel asked herself, after answering the first animal that came to mind.

" There you go!" Mrs. Collins sang. "Now draw it, sweetie."

And Rachel did. Paying full attention to every stroke of her pencil. Erasing over and over. The redhead was relaxing and begining to feel free. Gravity must not have been working on her, because she felt like she was in the sky, flying amongst the clouds.

Flying.

The horse had wings now. It was a black–what's the name?–pegasus and Rachel loved it. It could fly and move freely. Something Rachel wished she could do.

When class ended, Mrs. Collins congratulated her and told her she was a natural. Rachel didn't get many compliments, so she felt like she flew so high that she was starting to reach space.

The redheaded girl looked at her drawing at home again. It was spaced weirdly, the horses legs were too skinny and the wings were strange. It was completely inaccurate and imperfect. But she loved it anyways.

It was the most amazing feeling. And art was the only way she found it.

It felt...It was...she was...

It felt right. The feeling was perfect. She was happy.

* * *

Next, was her tenth birthday party.

It was in the new _mansion_, a renovated brownstone in Brooklyn. Her "room" was a huge loft with industrial lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows. Her room was now about twice as big as the first apartment, and it felt less like a home than ever before.

Once, again, Rachel found herself in a horrid dress. The fabric was expensive, but she wasn't allowed to eat anything so it wouldn't get stained. Mrs. Dare was wearing a light blue dress, with real silver and real pearl jewelry. She smiled at everyone, with that fake smile she now wore permanently. The smile she wore fashionably matched her outfit, and the birthday girl wondered how long it took to get the whole 'look' together. Beside the mother, Mr. Dare wore designer clothes by some fancy Italian designer that Rachel neither knew nor cared about. Her eight au-pair (she didn't keep count, she just knew) was nowhere in sight, but Rachel gave up on trying to be close to her nannies. They ended up having to leave at some point.

So, Rachel Elizabeth Dare tried to do the thing she was worst at. She tried to talk to her parents.

"It's my birthday, so I was thinking...Can we bake our own cake?" The readhead said, with a rare almost shy tone.

"Oh, no. No. No. Baking will ruin your new dress, which is very expensive. Why waste time making a cake? When we can always buy you one. "

"Maybe instead of your praty we go bowling together, tomorrow afternoon?" She suggested.

"I have to work tomorrow. There's money in my wallet, you can get it after the party."

Keyword, tried.

It was supposed to be her birthday party, but she knew no one there. Her parents insisted on bringing in important businesspeople and their children. The daughter pretended not to mind. It's not like Rachel had many friends anyways.

Soon, she felt her father steering her towards different people. His heavy hand and cold hand on her small freckly shoulder, reminded her of the weight of high class on her family. And that was how her whole birthday night was spent: Bragging, talking, negotiating, and faking smiles to everyone.

That was the last birthday party Rachel ever had.

Rachel Dare hated the way it felt. It was all arranged. It was all perfectly _fake_.

* * *

The next set of memories all happened when she was ten, eleven and twelve.

Usually, small thoughts popped up into her mind.

Did they even call this month? She had lost track.

Was this her eleventh or tenth nanny? No idea.

Where were her parents today? Somewhere doing some business.

When was the last time she hugged her parents? When she was six?

She started to leave the questions unanswered. There were too many.

Her eleventh birthday congratulations were via phone. Her gifts were more expensive clothes from her mother, and money from her father. Rachel stared at the money. If he paid for everything, when would she use this?

Parent-teacher conferences? No, it was parent-nanny conferences. Rachel Dare watched as her au-pair: thick-accented, tan, and Peruvian claimed to be Rachel's mother. She hated parent-teacher conferences. Who came up with that?

Her main role in the school's play, was watched by other children's loving parents. There were hundreds of people watching, but she knew no one in the crowd. Too many video cameras were on, but no camera was filming her. It wasn't meant for her. It was supposed to be her moment to shine. But, shine for whom?

The few times her parents were home she tried to show her art to them. The Dare girl was proud of her constant hard work and improvement, but they didn't even look at it. They praised her art while talking on the phone or checking their email or some other thing that always kept her parents busy.

Soon Rachel Elizabeth Dare gave up.

The money? She saved some and the rest went to her art supplies. As a matter of fact, she did that with all the money she received from her parents. The young girl avoided parent-teacher conferences, the nanny could go alone. No more plays for Rachel, she performed a last one and started focusing solely on art.

She painted and sculpted with all her might. She concentrated, sweat, erased, messed up, and got stumped. She was happy, she was free, and she _loved_ it.

Rachel started to feel more independent. She was free to talk to whoever she wanted to talk to and dress however she pleased. Her parents judged her few friends and the way she dressed. They tried to fix her "flaws". But, if Rachel's parents taught her anything, it was to be stubborn. They started ignoring, almost hiding their 'imperfect' daughter.

She might have been more free and have found something that made her happy. But it still hurt.

* * *

Today, Rachel Elizabeth Dare was packing. Not for camp Half-blood. Not for a bigger or fancier mansion. The redheaded Dare was packing for college.

Columbia University had a great arts program and was still in New York City, close enough to reach Camp Half-Blood if they needed the Oracle. Rachel found an apartment close to her school, and she was doing what she had been waiting to do since she was seven: she was moving out of her mansion.

But, It was not exactly like she had dreamed it would be.

She didn't know what it was that she expected moving out to be: a victorious parade as she left her parents glaring at her, or maybe a silent sneak off when they were gone? Neither idea was not very close to the truth. Rachel had to pack bags, organize and empty her room, throw out trash, pack things in boxes and find where to put them. It wasn't easy or liberating. In fact, it was very tiring. Rachel packed and cleaned but the room still looked the same.

She glared at her bedroom. Thankfully, the room made no effort to respond. Giving up, Rachel sighed and sat down, running her hands through her sweaty and tangled hair. Her hands were not in a much better situation. They were full of dust, and they hurt from scrubbing all sorts of art materials from the walls, furniture and floor. Her T-shirt and jeans more dirty and stained than ever. But, she refused a maid to clean or pack for her. She was an independent person, who did _not_ need someone doing her work for her.

The youngest Dare drank water and headed towards the back of the room. Most of her paintings were there, or at least _used_ to be there. Right now it was almost empty and mostly clean.

But, there was still that last door that was shut. It was a small door that blended into the room so easily that Rachel had already forgotten it was there. So, she stared at it, trying to remember what was in there. Art supplies? Old toys? Maybe a secret stairway?

Rachel Dare approched the door like it was a new discovery. Her mind wandered as she slowly turned the doorknob. The door creaked a little as she pushed it open. Inside she did not find Narnia or toys or clothes or even monsters, she found a box. It wasn't particularly big. A rectangular shaped cardboard box.

Curiosity leading her, she opened it on her bed. Rachel gasped, surprised to find the painting of her favourite memory. The girl stared at the painting. It was not finished. In fact, it was mostly drawn as a sketch. But at that instant, Rachel decided she would finish it.

The hours ticked by as Rachel Elizabeth Dare painted on the old canvas, now sitting on an easel art stand. She added the colors and emotions. The image, and the situation that made that memory possible. She didn't feel tired or hungry, as if the warm feeling of remembering kept her together.

Adding the last strokes, she was almost in tears.

"What happened? Why? What happened to us?" Rachel asked herself. Blinking away tears as her eyes inspected every single inch of the painting. "How could this happen? We weren't perfect, but that was the best part. Sure, we had lost my little brother and my parents fought and we had to stuggle to buy things. Perfect families and perfect people don't exist. But, it was all our flaws that created beauty.–"

Rachels words were interrupted by a sniffle. The girl turned around to find her parents standing right behind her. Her mother had tears in her eyes and her father's cold, stone-like eyes looked sadly at his daughter's. Rachel's tears kept running from her surprised eyes.

For the first time in a long while, the whole Dare family were in the same room. And even stranger, they were all completely speechless.

The deafening silence was ended by Rachel's sputtered words. "When did you– why are y– did you here that?"

Mrs Dare looked at her daughter as if finally seeing her. "We have– we had– a dinner."

Mr Dare simply, stared at the painting, poker face breaking and showing pain. "You remember this."

Another immense silence engulfed the Dare family. The tension in the room became thicker by the second, until Mrs Dare broke it.

"Were you packing to go to college?" She said, trying to lighten the atmosphere

Rachel cleared her throat and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I got an apartment here in New York."

"Good." The parents filled in awkwardly.

Rachel drew a shaky breath. "I'm going to go into Art." She blurted out, scared of their reactions.

A small pause occured, which to the redhead was eternal.

Mrs. Dare opened her arms, the blank look still in her face. And, it looked as if she were about to scream or cry, but instead she did something Rachel would have never expected. She hugged the teenager.

The Oracle stood there, shock overtaking her frackled face as her mother hugged her. "You're ok with this?"

And, even more surprising it was Mr. Dare who answered. He was still looking at the picture, but his mask was completely gone, showing he face of a tired, lonely, hardworking man. "Why would we stop you? Look at this. I can't stop you. I won't even try. Your art..."

Rachel Elizabeth Dare's emerald eyes were wide open as she turned in her mother's arms to look at her father. "You– You mean that?"

She got no response, but instead was embraced by her father as well. He was crying now. In fact, they all were.

Today, after years of falling apart, the Dare family hugged. In front of a painting of Rachel's favourite memory. Days before she left for college. In the most random and spontaneous was. It was late, confusing, and a bit uncomfortable, but it was wonderful.

So, perfect people may not exist, much less perfect families. But perfect moments did. And this was one of them. There might be deep scars that would be hard to heal, and there was time that was lost. But in that moment Rachel Elizabeth Dare found the beauty and love within, and about her broken family. Somehow that same imperfection was what made her family perfectly real.

And she loved it.


End file.
